The bright, cheery day soon put to flight all
the terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or rather tried to
laugh, at all that had passed, and endeavoured to persuade himself that
it was a mere freak of the imagination, conjured up by the stories he
had heard; but he was a little puzzled to find the door of his room
locked on the inside, notwithstanding that he had positively seen it
swing open as the footsteps had entered. He returned to town in a state
of considerable perplexity; but he determined to say nothing on the
subject, until his doubts were either confirmed or removed by another
night's watching. His silence was a grievous disappointment to the
gossips who had gathered at the doctor's mansion. They had prepared
their minds to hear direful tales; and they were almost in a rage at
being assured that he had nothing to relate.
The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. He now entered the
house with some trepidation. He was particular in examining the
fastenings of all the doors, and securing them well. He locked the
door of his chamber, and placed a chair against it; then, having
despatched his supper, he threw himself on his mattress and
endeavoured to sleep. It was all in vain--a thousand crowding fancies
kept him waking.
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